Desperate,Delicious and Divorced
by ParisAmourYou
Summary: Bubbles and Boomer and Including red's and green's Please Read I'll Give you A cookie *Holding Out chocolate cookie*
1. Introduction

Well Hello My Little Darlings, That's Freaking Creepy like Hello Darlings Really Who Says That? Anyways Obviously Like All The Other Fan Fiction Stories I Do Not Own Anything Except This Story So Enjoy.

Oh and here's What Happens to Set You All Up for Speed.

Bubble's Lost Her Father A Long Time Ago Along With Her Sister's, About 10 Years To be exact. The Professor Married Sara Keen (Their Kindergarten Teacher) When The Girls Were Only Six. When The Girls Were Ten The Professor Died. Leaving The Girls With No Father And With The Girls Having No Reason To Stay In Towns Ville The People Never Had Troubles Because Towns Ville Was The Safest Place Thanks To The Professors Experiment Making 3 Girls So They Stopped Evil And Lead Normal Lives For Every One Around Them . The Girls Mourning Also With Their Mother Sara They Moved To Houston,Texas To Live A New Life.

15 Years Later...

Bubbles Utonium At Age 25 Has Divorced Her Husband Due To Him (Excuse My French) Fucking His Stupid Little 20 Year Old Secretary In an Elevator And It Being Plastered All Over The Internet. So Is She Ready For Love Again But From A Sexy Detective Or Will She Just Be Afraid Of Divorce of Following In Her Mother's Footsteps From All The EX Husbands Her Mother had? You Will Never Know Untill You Read My First Story . Oh Bubbles And Boomer Doesn't Know Each Other In This Story Just To Make It Easy.

Oh And I Can't Forget Blossom,Buttercup,Brick And Butch Can I?

And Reader's Please Review I Appreciate it So Much, It Motivate's Me To Keep Writting :)

In Dedication to…

All Fan Fictioners :) Love Every One! Muah-Muah

-Signed Gabrielle Mone't (ParisAmourYou):)


	2. Chapter 1 :)

Detective Boomer Jojo Stared into the Nose Of a .45 Semiautomatic, his mind desperately seeking a way out. "Has anyone ever told you that you have anger issues?"

Had it been a lowlife perp with his finger on the trigger, the situation might have been easier to swallow. But It wasn't a perp. 10 years ago he would've been able to take him in 5 seconds flat but he lost his powers as his creator Mojo Jojo died of Old age and stress. He forced a calm that he didn't feel in his Voice. "You should see someone about this".

Zack Baxter, his partner for the last two months nudged Boomer with his gun. Boomer Bumped against the steel ledge of the bridge. A good Forty feet below, the slow ripples of the lake splashed against the Shore. He stared in the direction of the Black Escalade parked a half block down the road, which had lead him to deaths door. Hip hop music blared from the Truck which caused Big Bill, the driver, a known street dealer and all around bad guy, danced outside of it and his feet started doing the stanky Leg also the dougie, his head bobbing in and out like a chicken.

Boomer Motioned toward Bill, hoping to buy a few more minutes to figure out how to get his ass which by the way is too sexy to be in this shit. Smirking at his Conceitedness he said "such talent and he's wasting his life selling drugs. I mean what gives?"

"Where's the Fucking Book Pretty Boy?" Zack asked, the sun glinting off his bald head.

What book? Boomer mentally filled that piece of info to consider later. "Seriously, now you're gritting your teeth. That's another sign of rage syndrome."

The barrel pressed cold against Boomer's temple. Panic roiled in his stomach, hitting a ten on the Richter scale of serious emotional upheaval. He didn't have time to analyze it. Nor would he give zack the pleasure of seeing his fear.

Zack's nostrils flared. "Wanting to die is one thing, but you disappoint me. I thought you'd at least care about your fellow officer Mitchelson. All it took was one bullet.

"He ate my last cherry-filled donut last week" boomer shrugged, appearing cool on the outside but inside….. If mitchelson was really dead, he had two little boys who, thanks to zack would grow up without a father. "And you know how much I love those donuts." It took everything boomer had not to go for zack throat, rip his vocal cords, and tie them in a bow around his fucking zit infested neck. Boomer resisted, knowing zack wanted him to lose control and make a foolish move so he could find the motivation to pull the trigger,

Boomer on the other hand, needed just a few sane seconds to make sure the move he would make wasn't stupid. He needed a plan that excluded the lake below, a bullet or Fat ass over there Bill. The big man had given boomer a few solid blows to the ribs while forcing him into the car earlier. What boomer needed was to reach the gun bill had overlooked, the one strapped to his ankle.

Zack sneered. "You know what they'll say, don't you? You were just another Townsville cop gone bad. Lost your wife and your sense of justice. And I'll be the guy who took you down after I saw you kill mitchelson. Of course, ill take that hard".

"Do you grind your teeth at night, too? Acid burned boomer's stomach, that's bad for your over-bite.

"You think your funny huh pretty boy?" Zack jammed his gun into boomer's neck. "Laugh if you want, but I've already set this up. After an anonymous tip, the captain found that missing cocaine under your bed. I was told by IA to bring you in. what a pity that you turned on me and I had to shoot." Zack mouth pinched and creased white. "I can make this easy or hard. What do you want? I let mitchelson go fast. One to the heart was all that it took.

Boomer Held out his hands, hoping his rage didn't make them tremble. "I appreciate you saying im handsome, not pretty but can you give me a second? I just hate making spur-of-the-moment decisions."Boomer said with sarcasm in his voice also finishing with a smirk.

A glint of hundred-proof evil flashed in his partner's eyes. Time had run out

Boomer Knocked Zack hand to the right. The gun fired, the bullet shattering one of the escalades headlights. Bill's dance routine ended. "My Baby, OMG, OMG,OMG ! All Three-hundred-plus pounds of the man came charging at them. Thankfully, bill danced better that he charged. The man ran like a drunken elephant.

Boomer slammed zack wrist into the bridges steel rail. Seeing his gun hit the pavement brought a flash of relief, then boomer saw bill digging into his pants. The man had either a Man yeast infection or it's his own gun, and boomer would bet his left nut on the gun. Without enough time to go for his own weapon, boomer shoved zack down and took his only way out. Not that he felt particularly happy about either. He dove off the bridge, and the hot pain of a bullet exploded through his shoulder right before he smacked into the water below.

So what did you guys think Pretty Good huh?. Please Review I would Appreciate It:)


	3. Chapter 2 :)

"Mom!, Im standing here wearing nothing but a towel and I refuse to discuss my sex life with you" Bubble Utonium's grip on the baby blue phone tightened. Why had she answered the call? She could still be chin deep in Pink Chiffon smelling bubbles from bath & body works, drowning her frustrations and watching on her tub's DVD player playing The Little Mermaid.

"We're not discussing your sex life. Sweetie you don't even have a sex life," her mother said, her tone a mix of humor and snideness.

"I'm not talking about this." Bubbles glanced at the sixty-inch flat-screen TV left on for her cats's entertainment. While the TV remained on mute, An anchorwoman stood in front of the local police station and a picture of a man's face, not an altogether unpleasant face, took up half of the screen "Oh my god he's a cutie". The words Armed and Dangerous? Appeared beneath the picture "Damn it,to bad he's dangerous. Bubbles started to hit the volume when she heard frantic barking in the backyard.

"What was that dear?!" Bubbles heard her mother say. Finally turning back to her mother from looking at Channing outside just in time to hear"It's not natural!" her mother insisted.

Neither was talking about sex with her mother. Bubbles attempted a conversational U-turn: "I got a postcard from Robin remember her mom?." Then she tugged the towel higher around her breasts and peered out the window at the gloomy February day. The song "Grandma got ran over by a reindeer" played over her home sound system.

Pressing her nose against the cold glass, she spotted her white teacup poodle Channing running in circles by the shed. Giggling at that she remembered her mother was on the phone. "Mommy, I'll talk to you later Channing is having a fit in the backyard. I should go see what he's terrorizing. It could be another rabid raccoon."

"It's probably a stray cat. And you can't adopt another one. You know what they say about a woman with more than three cats." Bubbles sighed realizing her mom didn't hang up.

"What do they say Mom" She jumped at the change of the subject. Going into her room and changing into black leggings with a white long sleeved curve hugging shirt. Finding her baby blue UGG boots putting them on and going into the bathroom to put her hair into a messy bun "What do they say mom?" Her mother's high-pitched voice carried through the line. "Any woman with more than three cats is destined to be an old woman with no man. Just finishing putting her big silver hoops in and putting a dab of clear lipgloss on "Mommy that will not be me so just chill please". Her mom replying "I can't with a daughter that has a dog named after CHANNING TATUM! I mean seriously I think that's proof you need a man in your life."

"Like I said im not going to be an old maid. I'm divorced remember." Just like you. Like I swore I'd never be. Bubbles mentally pushed the delete button on that thought. Going to the back door pulling at it and grunting when she realized the deadbolt was locked and her keys were in her purse. Dropping onto her hands and knees, she slapped open the doggy door. "Channing come here baby!"

Poking her head out the doggy door. A cold, rain scented wind whipped in to her face. Channing, come to mommy!" The dog, his velcroed reindeer horns sagging, shot her a glance but continued to howl and run in circles. Whatever he'd found, pride echoed in his bark.

Bubbles nudged the phone back to her ear just as her mother said, "Of course I remember. Why do you think im calling you? I know how hard ex-anniversaries are to take Honey."

Bubbles began backing up wishing she could reverse time. 5 minutes ago she would never have answered the Freaking phone. Five days back and she'd have never agreed to do the Christmas Card Photo shoot for the Pet Magazine Group. 5 years back she would have never married peter.

Finally drawing her head out of the doggy door, she plopped down on the carpeted floor cushioning on her rear. "Mom, can I call you back later?" in a couple of years, maybe? She thought.

Her mom kept talking. "It usually takes me about a month to rebound. And the best-

"With six ex-anniversaries, that means you're depressed half of the year. Why, it barely gives you time to hunt down your next victim. I mean husband." Bubbles frowned knowing most of her comment came from being around Buttercup her whole life and would bring her repercussions. Her mother's "divorce record" had sensitive subject stamped all over it. But so did Bubbles non-sex life.

"Don't get cute with me, Bubby! Is that Christmas music? Are you doing a Christmas shoot? Are all photographers weird? Tell me you didn't put up a tree this time. Why couldn't you be something normal? Well except when you had powers your father and I were proud what you and your sisters did for the community. But you know Martha's daughter works at Forever 21 and she has a sex life." "I don't think photographers have a sex life honey."

"I'll put my application in tomorrow. Sex is a nice company benefit." Bubbles said sarcastically glancing down the hall where the reflection of Christmas lights danced against the wall. It was a prop. And the music and candles well… it put her in the spirit. "Do you ask everyone about their sex life mom, like Blossom or Buttercup perhaps?"

"Maybe... but it just so happen's Martha is going to be a grandma, and her daughter is to be pregnant, and none of my daughter's has kids or is pregnant." Her mother's voice mingled with another bout of Channing's serious come-see-what-I found barking.

"Mom, Channing Tatum needs me. Got to Go. Kiss-Kiss." She mimicked her mother's voice.

"Don't you dare hang up on me, Bubbles! I'm not fini-

Bubbles hung up, risking her mother's wrath. Sara keen, mother of three, a divorcee to six and counting, considered someone hanging up on someone is a federal offense. She had left a couple of husbands for that very reason. No doubt, bubbles would pay for the crime later, but right now she had a dog situation, her buns were drawing a chill through the thin fabric of her leggings to the rest of her body, and today was her fifth wedding anniversary. Or it would have been if eighteen months ago peter hadn't decided to play pin the secretary to the elevator wall.

Scrambling to her feet, she tossed the phone on the white suede recliner. The chair equipped with a massager, heating pad, and a mini refrigerator, had been the only thing she and peter had fought over in court. She'd been determined to keep it, but not because she liked it, but because Trey songz, Mimi and sweetie did.

Peter liked it too but he had his secretary to keep him massaged and hot.

She glanced up just as Trey, her red tabby, sashayed into the room. His santa hat cocked over one ear reminded Bubbles that she needed to finish the shoot. She would have been done by now if Mimi hadn't gone on modeling strike and taken refuge under the bed, sending Bubbles to hide her frustrations in the tub.

Trey balanced on his hind legs, sending the hat's white puff ball dangling around his stiff whiskers. He eyes the phone in his chair and cut his accusing green gaze to her. "Sorry." Bubbles grabbed the phone and tickled the cat's chin.

Channing's ear-piercing bark drew bubble's attention again. She dropped Trey's chin and threw the phone on a different recliner. Seeing that she didn't have on a bra she skirted around the coffee table and opened a gift bag containing a baby blue bra saying desperate, delicious on one boob and divorced on the other.

After putting it on, finding her keys she ran past the mirror in the room and the bra was clearly visible she shrugged. She unlocked the door, and darted out to rescue Channing's latest victim. Probably another Texas-size cockroach. Channing took pride in his roach conquests. And at these sizes, he had a right to be proud.

Hello Readers How Do You Like Ms. keane , she sure is a peice of work but a loving,crazy mother altogether:) Please Review!


	4. Chapter 3 :)

Big Bill Heaved In a gaspy breath. "You don't think I killed him do you?"

Zack gritted his teeth and stared out at the bank of the lake. They'd walked almost an hour and found nothing. Bill, holding his side, wheezed and huffed. How was it that he could dance for hours, but after walking a mile, he couldn't breathe? What a fat ass Zack thought. Zack curled his hand into a fist, wanting to hit something. Wanting to hit Boomer Jojo.

"I sure as hell don't want to go down for killing a cop. I got- Bill inhaled deeply "-plans, you know. A talent scout is coming to Houston next week for that new reality show. I got a spot to perform. If I make it, I'll be on…. TV and everything. I'll go straight then. No more illegal crap. Did-

"Shut up!" Zack swung around. "And stop breathing like that!

"Problem Bro," Bill said with a smirk, swiped at the sweat dripping down his dark eyebrow. Thirty degrees and the man was sweating. Zack's patience teetered on the edge. In a few more months, he would have been out. Retired with honors, and almost enough money to make the last twenty years worth the effort. But no! Things had to get screwed up. That damn snitch had to start nosing around. And he'd given Jojo enough evidence to ruin everything.

"He's not here." Bill picked up a rock and flung it into the water with a splash. "I bet the fall killed him. Probably hit his head on a rock. I don't think my shot got him. Like I told you before, I don't mind wounding someone or breaking arm or too, but I don't kill folks. Especially not cops."

"Where's his damn body, then?" Zack spit out.

"Maybe it got caught on the bottom."

Zack dragged his fingers through his thinning hair. His hands shook with rage. "No!" He kicked at some loose rocks. "Boomer Jojo is a lucky son of a bitch. He made it out alive, and damn it if he didn't get away."

"But he's not here," Bill whined. "And he's shot. Just how far could he get?"

Zack Looked down one side of the waterway and then the other. Boomer Jojo could take him down. He couldn't let that happen. "We've got to find him. He's got to die and he's got to die today."


	5. Chapter 4 :)

"Channing, come here, boy."

Boomer heard the voice and knew he should try to run. Only, it hurt too much to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to live. But then, he'd already made that choice, hadn't he? He'd chosen to live.

Oh, he'd denied it at every mandatory shrink visit he'd made in the last two years. Denied it to Brick, not only his big brother but his ex-partner, who'd gone fucking crazy on him because boomer took to many risks.

In truth, he hadn't set out to get himself killed. Not to say that if the opportunity had been knocked, he wouldn't have invited it in to discuss things over a beer. Yet when the hereafter stared him in the face, he'd found something in himself he'd thought had died along with Tara: his will to live.

"Channing!" the dog's owner called out again.

Picking up a rock, Boomer tossed it toward the yapping dog. The ugly dog had reindeer horns. It's not even Christmas anymore Boomer thought to himself.

Grimacing, Boomer stood. The last thing he needed to do was to explain himself to some civilian. If what Zack had said was true, the local news would have Boomer's face plastered on TV screens across Texas.

Sucking air into his battered lungs, he knew he needed to contact someone, but who would believe Zack, a twenty-year HPD veteran, had gone bad? Hell, Boomer still had a hard time believing it.

His gaze zipped around the property. The slight clearing in the pine thicket had a storage shed that backed up to the house and looked promising. He needed a place to catch his breath-a place he could think things through, away from the icy wind. He needed to figure out what damn book Zack wanted.

Boomer eyed his bloody shirt. The bullet had only grazed his shoulder. While it hurt like hell, the bleeding had stopped. Still, he could use a painkiller. His entire body throbbed from his leap off that bridge. Or was it from Big Bill's fist? Running his hands over his ribs, he didn't think any were broken, but they sure as hell felt loose.

"Jeez." He almost tripped over his own feet. Having been undercover for almost a week, he'd hardly closed his eyes. And for the last hour he'd pushed himself harder, running on a tank of adrenaline that had just run dry.

Hearing approaching footsteps, he started to move. His pain shot from high to higher. Staggering behind the shed, gun in hand, he collapsed against the splintery planks of the small building.

"What is it, Channing? Don't get your outfit dirty."

The cold wind slapped against Boomer's lake soaked clothes. He listened and mentally created a mug shot of a person who would own such an ugly dog and would dress it in reindeer horns in February. December, Yes, but February?

"Channing, I don't need another cockroach in my collection." The voice and footsteps sounded too young to belong to a blue-haired old lady he'd conjured up in his mind.

Boomer's knees buckled. The cold nipped at his bones. He leaned harder against the shed wall. Now wouldn't be a good time to pass out. The dog's owner would probably call an ambulance and the police, and he'd be stitched up and hauled off to jail before he could say uncle.

No, before he faced his fellow officers, he needed to think of a way to prove his innocence. Or rather, a way to prove Zack's guilt. Zack wouldn't take him down without a fight.

"Channing!" the voice called. "Mama's tootsies are cold Through these Uggs. Not to mention other body parts."

The dog barreled around the shed, bouncing and barking, his red cloth horns flopping. The footsteps drew nearer. Boomer braced himself. Damn, he didn't want to do this. Involving a civilian meant trouble.

"For Pete's sake, come on. Let's-

The Blonde's mouth fell open. Her pale blue eyes grew as wide as quarter.

Boomer registered her features. Curly Blonde hair into a messy bun with some strands hanging in her face with baby blue eyes. His gaze lowered. While her height was actually kind of average let's say 5'5, nothing else about her fit that word. Her tight white long sleeved shirt tight, almost like skin which gave him an obvious idea of what was below. Breasts, body, curves. At the end of that shirt were long shapely legs covered by black leggings by the way which looked good on her. As she danced from one foot to the other, the bottom of her shirt riding up showing her flat stomach and tiny waist. He swallowed his interest level climbing. And his reasons for not passing out were now altogether different.

His eyes stayed focused on the hem of her shirt showing something like a tattoo. She squealed and yanked her shirt down from the chilly winds. With the shirt pulled taut, he could see what her baby blue bra underneath said: Desperate, Delicious and Divorced.

Boomer blinked. He was shot, wet, cold, and beat up, but he wasn't dead, and he recognized delicious when he saw it. His eyes traveling back up to her face features he found something about how this was going to go and it wasn't good either. That's when it hit him. In a daze "Damnnn"

SLAP! Boomer not believing that she just did that. he said "Sorry." coming back from his fantasy.

At that her face went white with horror "Oh,God!"

Yay They Met, Review Please!


	6. Chapter 5 :)

"Oh, God!" The blonde focused on his gun. Dropping to her knees, she snatched up the dog. "Don't shoot! He doesn't bite. Boomer realized that the gun did point at the dog and now at the kneeling woman, who clutched the ugly looking creature to her breasts. Turning the gun away, he pushed his self off the wall. "I'm not going to shoot. I need your help." She zeroed in on his shoulder, where his tan t-shirt had grown dark with his blood. Then her gaze zipped to his face. "Oh, God!" she repeated again. Honestly I thought she was going to give me a compliment because I looked so good right now, well except the shoulder thing but any woman could get over that with this angelic face. Instead her expression washed white. The last "Oh, God!" told him that she recognized him. Yep, my face had been plastered across the news, all right. Double fuck my life right now.

"Are you alone?" Pain quivering in my voice.

"No! My husband is here." Her eyes went wide again, then darted left as she tucked a piece of her bangs behind her right ear.

He reread the word "Divorced" on her bra. As an undercover cop, he appreciated poor lying skills in a person – it made his job a hell of a lot easier. "Get up."

She rose to her feet, keeping the squirming dog cuddled in her arms. Then she said "Why don't I close my eyes, turn around, and you disappear? Then I'll pretend I never saw you."

"You would do that?" he studied her, wanting to believe it.

Her eyes widened and cut left gain "Of course."

If ten different kinds of pain didn't exist right now, he would laugh at her inability to lie. Hell, if not for the pain, he wouldn't want to leave. At least he had her pegged: a very sexy, slightly crazy divorcee, who mostly told the truth – or did a terrible job of it when she did lie.

"Let's go inside." Forgetting he was holding the gun in his hand, he motioned for her to move.

"Please, just leave." Her voice wobbled.

Dragging air into his battered lungs, he considered just doing that. But his next step flung him back into reality. I wouldn't make it a block before the cops arrived. Then I wouldn't have a chance in hell of proving I wasn't involved in killing Mitch, or that I hadn't taken the drugs from that bad bust that he and Zack had worked a month ago. But damn, why hadn't he ever suspected Zack of taking the cocaine?

"I can't leave," he told her. "Look, I know you're scared and you don't believe me. You'd be a fool to believe me. But I'm not out to hurt you. I don't care what they're saying. I've been set up, and…Shit, I'm not guilty."

Her slender throat bobbed up and down as if she attempted to swallow his words as the truth. One glance into her terror filled eyes told me she hadn't been able to pull it off.

"Let's go inside." This time he motioned with his hand instead of the gun. "You're safe with me I swear."

She took a step back, stumbled and almost fell. Normally he would have jumped at the chance to wrap his arms around someone who looked like her – someone who he was sure had matching panties to go with that bra beneath her leggings. But after being beat up, shot and leaping off a bridge, jumping was damn near impossible. Waiting for her to right herself, then nodded toward the house. "Come on."

A tad worried about those chances his self if she tries to run, he squared his shoulders. Pain filled the pit of his stomach. He refused to flinch. "Move." He had intended to sound gruff but regretted it when fear masked her expression

Chin high, she started walking. He stayed hip-close in case she tried something. When she opened the back door, he shoved his foot in the door jamb. She tripped over him in a last-ditch effort to lunge inside and lock him out. Forgetting his bruised ribs, he caught her. The breath hitching pain dragged a growl from his gut. The dog echoed an angry version of the same sound when he latched on to the woman's elbow. Not wanting to add do bites to his list of injuries he released her.

Twisting around, she glared at him. Her eyes widened. Anger smoldered in her baby blues. Before the smoldering changed into action, he nudged her inside. Following, he shut the door never taking his gaze off her. "A feisty one huh" I thought. Until he convinced her he meant no harm to her or that strange dog, she wasn't going to be a willing hostage.

"Sit down". He pointed at the white suede sofa. When she obeyed. He inventoried the room. L-shaped white suede sofa, white suede chair….in the corner of his vision he spotted something moving. He wrenched around and confronted a large orange tabby wearing a ….Santa cap.? His panic lessening, yet his curiosity zapped into high gear.

He blinked, looked again. The Santa cat gave him a slow once over; then as if finding him boring; the feline went back to his nap. He became more aware of the tune, "Jingle bells." His next breath caught the scent of gingerbread and pine- Christmas.

He raked a hand over his face and continued to survey his surroundings. An extremely large, space-age-looking TV played silently in one corner of the room, while and antique grandfather clock hypnotically ticked off the seconds in another.

Stepping to the bachelor-looking recliner, he leaned against it for support. He never saw such a mix of stuff like this before. The sofa looked expensive and modern, but the blue pale chair next to the clock looked antiquish, and looked like it need to be fixed.

His knee bumped then side of the white recliner and it came to life, humming and vibrating. Boomer flinched. The feline Santa raised its head, meowed as if in appreciation, and snuggled deeper into the chair. Christmas music played.

"Jingle all the way…"

Boomer arched an eyebrow at the woman. The dog, sitting in her lap, shook its large head and nearly lost its reindeer horns.

"You do know it's not Christmas?" he asked mentally pegging her for a little crazier than he thought.

Ignoring him, she tugged at her shirt and looked toward the hall, where another cat strutted. The white-haired feline, wearing an elf costume, swayed forward and leaped into the chair with the other cat.

"Okay, this is strange," he said studying the woman.

She didn't answer. Then a voice boomed from the kitchen, "Eat the tuna and pick up a gallon of milk."

He swung around, instinctively pointing his gun. He dared to go to the entranced of the kitchen, His gaze zipping between the woman and the direction of the voice.

She squirmed on the sofa. "Are you going to shoot my refrigerator?"

Holding the aim of the gun, he stared at her and said "The fridge talks?"

She nodded trying to cover her dog over her visible bra.

His impression of her took on a new dimension. Oh, she still rated a ten on the gorgeous scale. I'd bet my definition of her being slightly crazy no longer fits the bill. This woman, with her Christmas-costumed pets, vibrating recliners, and a talking refrigerator, took crazy to just crazy.

He leaned forward and spotted the appliance in question. All silver, it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. He glanced back at her. "Any other talking appliances?"

"The microwave and litter box," she answered, as if the question hadn't been strange. "And the fish on the wall. It sings."

He blinked, mentally digesting the absurdity of it all. "What's your name?" Maybe he had died on the bottom of the river and this was you know…hell or whatever. He decided her to be sexy for him to be in hell.

"Bubbles." She hesitated. "And yours?" she added, as if in afterthought.

He stared at the TV. "They haven't said my name?"

"It's on mute. I only saw your picture."

At least she hadn't tried to lie about that. He shuffled a few steps to the old blue recliner and sat down before he collapsed. "Boomer Jojo," he answered. Feeling something in the chair, he reached behind him and got a wet towel and a bright blue phone.

"What did you do?" She stroked the fidgeting dog, her gaze on the phone. "If…you don't mind me asking."

He heard the hesitancy in her voice, as if she was unsure she really wanted to know. Fear still shadowed her eyes, but now they simmered with indignation.

"I'm a narcotics officer," he said. "My partner set me up to look like a dirty cop. I didn't do anything." He set the towel and phone on the hardwood floor, stifling a moan as he leaned back into the chair

The dog wriggled in her lap. She didn't move. "What…are you accused of?"

He would lie, but didn't see a reason to. "I think they're accusing me of stealing cocaine and maybe killing a fellow officer. I'm being framed."

"Oh."

"You don't believe me?"

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and then it popped out, moist, and a shade redder than the top lip. "Of course I do." She brushed the left side of her chin against her shoulder.

"No, you don't," he said. Her eyes widened and he held out his hands. "Don't worry. I don't blame you. If I were you, I wouldn't believe me either." He dropped his head into the palm of his hands and squeezed his temples feeling a headache coming on. Why the fuck did Zack do this? Just why?

"You should leave before my husband get's home," she said.

He looked around the room. On the mantel, above the fireplace, sat a row of framed pictures. Most of the frames held photos of cats and her ugly dog, but one displayed an elderly woman. Another held a black and white wedding photograph. The woman in it had black hair in it though with those same baby blue eyes, but it wasn't Bubbles.

He focused on her again. "You're lying."

"I am not. He must have gone to the store ….for milk." She nodded towards the kitchen. "Didn't you hear my fridge? Were out of milk." Her face paled and she blinked repeatedly.

He believed the fridge but not her. Standing, he crossed the room toward her. Each step unfurled a new pain. "Show me your left hand"

She glanced down to where her fingers lay hidden beneath the dog's white curly fur. "I…I don't wear a ring."

"And the bra…excuse me for looking but it's like right there" he said sure that his cheeks were tinting with embarrassment.

She looked down and her cheeks gained color. "It's old. I was and I got married again. People get divorced and remarried. My parents got divorced and my mom remarried-lots of times."

"So are you no longer desperate or delicious either?" he regretted the flirtatious remark as soon as the panic hit her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean….I'm not going to hurt you."

He glanced around the room, noting the holiday-scented candles burning. "Look. I need a place to lie low for a while. As soon as I'm strong enough, I'll be out of your hair. Until then, however, it's best if you just come clean with me. Does anyone besides you live here?

She stared at the two costumed felines basking in the vibrating recliner. Slowly, she faced me. "I live alone, but people drop by all the time." This time she didn't blink.

"Are you expecting anyone soon-today or tonight?" he recognized the tune now playing as "Here comes Santa Claus."

She blinked. "Yes."

"Don't lie." He sat beside her, and the sofa sighed with his weight. "I'm not going to hurt you or your Christmas munchkins."

"I'm not the stuffy type whose feel family and friends feel as if they need to make an appointment to visit."

"I'd never call you stuffy." Weird, maybe. He leaned back against the butter-soft suede sofa and closed his eyes, fighting the aches pulsing through his body. Forcing his muscles to go slack, he listened as the song changed to "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer," and held the gun in his lap.

The home's heater took the chill out of the air and the grandfather clock ticked, and yet a different song began to play. The woman shifted. The sofa dipped. He opened one eye.

"Where you going?"

"To the bathroom." She lost her color again and resettled.

"Where's the bathroom?" he asked. When she pointed toward the kitchen, he stood. "Let's go"

"Never mind." She fell deeper into the sofa.

"I won't watch if that's what you're thinking." he palmed the back of the couch to steady his self. The movement brought a jingle from his belt loop. Sticking his hand in the back pockets, he felt around for the key. Feeling relief he found the key. No doubt she would balk, but until he could get her to believe him, he didn't have a choice. He unlocked the cuffs from my belt loop.

She stared at the cuffs. "I don't have to go that bad."

"Come on." He motioned for her to rise.

She nudged the dog from her lap and hurried to the kitchen.

"Not so fast." He caught her arm.

She paled and stared at his shoulder. "You're bleeding."

Glancing down, he saw bright red blood spotting his shirt. "Use the bathroom, Bubbles. I don't have time for games."

The ring of the phone punctuated his words. Hope brightened her blue eyes. "If I don't answer, they might call the police."

"Yeah, and if you do get it, you'll say something to tip them off. Go to the bathroom."

Suddenly the recorder answered. "Hi, you've reached Bubbles Utonium Photography. I'm probably in my studio with my eye to the lens, so leave a message and I'll get right back to you."

"Bubby!" a female voice practically screamed across the line. "I'm very disappointed in you. You know how I feel about people hanging up on me. Now, I realize your sex I none of my business, but I'm your mother. If you can't talk to me about this, then who can you talk to?"

Boomer's eyes widened at the expression on Bubble utonium's face. The voice on the recorder continued: "Because I know how difficult today is for you, I'm going to forgive you. But don't let it happen again! And don't let today get to you. Bye, love. Kiss-Kiss."

The machine clicked off. His captive turned on him, the fire in her eyes more intense. "Don't look amused."

"This look isn't amusement. It's pain. I'm hurting like hell. Go on to the bathroom."

"Not with you I won't." Her shoulders stiffened, her defiant posture telling him more about her character. Not a wimp for sure.

"Then I'll just check it out," he said

"You think I've got a gun hidden under the toilet?"

"No. But you might have an escape hatch or high speed internet connected to the throne." His gaze shifted to the talking fridge.

He pushed past her to glance inside the small half bath. It did for all general purposes appear normal. Then again, the toilet seat had fish painted on it.

Stepping away, he motioned for her to enter, then he turned his back. "Don't close the door."

Boomer leaned against the washer and dryer lining the wall and waited.

Hearing the flush, he turned around. When she appeared, she had a glint in her eyes that he didn't like. He needed to get her handcuffed to something so he could raid her medicine cabinet for antibiotics and some pain killers. He wasn't hungry, but realizing he hadn't eaten in more than 36 hours, he decided to see what the talking fridge held. He wondered if the appliance would tell him if he asked.

"You got something I can eat?" he nudged her forward. "Bread, milk?"

"Didn't you hear? I'm out of milk." She pointed at the loaf of bread on the counter. "I wasn't expecting company. But help yourself to the bread."

"You want anything?" he asked

"My appetite fail me for some reason." Her sarcasm hung think.

He pulled a chair to the center of the room. "Sit here and try real hard to believe me." He spotted some knives on the counter and eased the chair a little farther from them.

Keeping an eye on her she sat, he searched the fridge. He found several bowls of left over's, but opted for jam. Pulling a spoon from the open dishwasher, he spread strawberry preserves on one slice of bread. Folding the bread over, he buried his teeth into the soft sandwich. "Thanks."

"Eat the tuna and pick up a gallon of milk," the appliance repeated, and boomer shook his head.

The phone rang again. The answer ring machine played its message and another female voice came on the line. "Hey bubbs. I thought by now you'd have flipped Buttercup's for tomorrow night. Have you read your texts? If you haven't do so now please. I swear our sister is a few fries short of a happy meal. But I have to say, our discussions our never dull when she chooses the topic. And yes your topic of your cats and dog bubbs was a little PG-13 and I'll bring that up forever."

Boomer pushed the last bite into his mouth.

The voice continued. "Anyway. Call me. You didn't seem like yourself yesterday. Something going on? Besides being a little horny?" The caller chuckled. "I can't wait to see what you pull up on this one. Buttercup was shocked by your research on orgasms you know since you're the sweetest and most innocent out of all 3 of us."

The jam sandwich caught in Boomer's throat and it took three tries to get it down. He gazed at Bubbles and smiled. Her face held 3 different types of red. So, his gorgeous yet nutty hostage was horny, huh? And she knew a thing or two about multiple orgasms. If things were different, he would have been happy to help her out of her….predicament and to further her research.

"You think it's funny?" Her blue eyes squinted. "You threaten to shoot me and my dog. You come into my house. Invade my privacy, and eat my food and now your laughing at me."

"Sorry." His smile fell flat because he knew any discussion on multiple orgasms would probably lead her to believe he intended to do some things he didn't. "I didn't threaten to shoot you. Let's go."

"Where?" she stood, pulling the hem of her white shirt down.

"To the bedroom."

"I don't think so!"

"I've already told you I don't intend to hurt you. I know you don't believe me. But when I walk out of here, you're going to say, 'Damn, he was telling the truth.' Now come on." He pushed his gun into the waist of his pants and took her by the elbow.

She tried to jerk away but he held on and pretended he didn't hurt. He headed back through the living room and down the hall as the song, "Grandma got run over by a reindeer," piped through the stereo system. "You're a real Christmas fan, huh?"

Each step brought a new pain to his body. He wondered why Bubbles lived in the boonies, away from neighbors.

He wondered, too, why any woman who looked like her would be horny. Even with her talking appliances and obvious Christmas fetish, men should be lined up outside her door.


	7. Chapter 6 :)

The man's hand wrapped around bubble's forearm. Not tight enough to cause pain, but tight enough to trigger alarm. Fight him! Her inner voice screamed. But she'd heard never to fight until it could count. She needed a weapon. The lamp in the bedroom. The bat in the garage. Desperate, her gaze darted to the singing fish hanging on the hall way wall.

He stopped outside her studio and glanced inside. The Christmas tree twinkled in the corner and her camera perched on top of the tripod. The man looked back at her as if she needed a straightjacket. Channing, horns now hanging sideways, darted between their legs and took his position In front of the tree.

"I think I get it you're a photographer," he said. "You were taking pictures of the animals. Like Christmas calendars or something."

She nodded, her eyes searching for weapons. Channing ran past them and hotfooted it into her bedroom. The bedroom…where this man, with handcuffs, was taking her?

Fear curled inside her stomach. Exactly what did he have in mind? His handcuffs clinked as he shifted.

"What is today?" He nudged her farther down the hall. When she didn't answer, he squeezed her arm lightly.

"Look at me. I'm not going to hurt you. I need your help. Relax. Talk to me and you'll figure out that I'm not a bad guy?"

She glanced up, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head. "What do you mean?"

He pushed open her office door peered in, and prodded her to step forward. "Your mother implied that you were depressed because of today's date. I figured maybe it was yo-"

"It's none of your business!" No way would she talk to him about her life. No way would she talk to him about her life. No way would she let him kill her-leave her to be found stiff wearing a desperate, delicious and divorced bra.

He shrugged. "Is your birthday today? You turn thirty today?"

Thirty? Bubbles head jerked up. "Do I look thirty?"

"No. I…i…." He glanced down the hall?"

The urge to fight and fight dirty washed over her. Reaching back, she snatched her talking fish from the wall and swung hard. Catching him unaware, she managed to wallop him a good one on his head

He dropped to his knees as the fish started singing, "Take me down to the river…"

Fish weapon tight in hand, she tore down the hall. She passed the grandfather clock, cleared the recliner, and almost had the doorknob when he snatched a handful of her t-shirt. She took two more steps, and then flew back into him like a rubber band. Refusing to go down easy, she swerved and gave him everything she had.


	8. Chapter 7 :)

"Where to now?" Bill asked

Zack stared out the escalade windshield and pressed a fist into his thigh until he felt it bruise. Twenty years he'd given to the force. He'd been shot twice, knifed once, lost his wife and kids because he gave so much of himself to the damn job. Now they wanted to hand him a gold watch and a joke of a pension.

"Take me back to my car." For five years, Zack had been worried about taking on a new partner. Rumor had it that jojo was a suicidal, a man who ghost-walked through life, waiting to join the ranks of the dead. Zack had thought he'd be an easy mark. If he couldn't pull it off behind jojo's back, he could always bribe him.

"What we gonna do if he turns us in?" Bill asked, his tone more whining than afraid.

"I've fixed that. They already think he's a dirty cop." Zack pounded his fist on the dashboard. The rumors were wrong about jojo. Sure, the man seemed to have a death wish, but he had some kind of black mojo keeping him alive. Every stupid risk the man took, he came out strutting high. And whenever Zack would hint at making a little extra income on the side, Jojo would blow it off as if he'd meant it as a joke. The man didn't have what it took to go on the take.

Zack knew that, but was counting on the other not knowing

"Damn it!" Zack spat out the words. "I didn't want to go down like this. He's supposed to be dead. I'm supposed to know he's dead! He could be holed up somewhere, biding his time. He's shot, damn it! There can't be more than 15 homed he could have gotten to. I'm going to talk to every freaking homeowner in the area." He cracked his knuckles to relieve tension. "You're going to come and drive this area until-

"He's probably dead." Bill started his car and put it into gear. "Besides, I gotta go dancing at six. Promised my girl-

Zack jerked his gun out of his holster and pointed it right between big bills eyes. "You're going to do what I tell you. And if you screw up you'll die regretting it.

Bill stomped his foot on the brake. The car jerked. Zack's finger slipped.

The gun went off.


	9. Chapter 8 :)

Bubbles swung the fish left, swung right. The intruder dodged her blows but never struck back. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, it occurred to her that he had a gun and all she had was a fish. The thought brought on an overwhelming desire to run.

Swinging around, she started for the door, but her foot landed on the wet towel. With no traction, her feet flew up and she landed right on the floor. The impact made her loose her breath and loosen the death grip on her weapon and it skidded across the floor.

"Jeez! Are you okay?" His words rang in her ears.

He rolled her off her stomach. Carefully. Catching her breath. The fish started its song again. "Take me down to the river…" The words, "You better not cry. You better not pout…" also pumped through the house. She closed her eyes as the lyrics merged together. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to the river. But she could do some serious pouting right now!

Masculine moved over her back. A soft purr sounded in her ear and cat whiskers tickled her cheek.

"Bubbles? You okay?" He sounded winded and concerned.

She opened her eyes and tugged her shirt down. Trey songz (I'm just gonna call the cat TR now) hovered on one side of her, while her abductor leaned over the other. His face came so close that his warm breath brushed over her cheek and some delusional section of her addled brain registered that his eyes were the same deep blue as her kitty Mimi that seemed to draw her in and soothe her as gently as the fingers that parted in her hair.

"You're still out of breath. I'll go get you a glass of water." He moved away.

Closing her eyes again, she tried to gather her thoughts. The man had an injured shoulder, and she clobbered him over the head with a singing fish, but he's getting her a glass of water. That fall did knock the breath out of her, but his injury had to be worse.

Sitting up, she leaned on her elbows and kicked off her ugg boots. She heard the fridge dispense water. Then the recorder on the fridge played its message. "Eat the tuna and…"

She had never seen eyes such a deeply blue as his. They really were almost the same color as Mimi's. Her gaze suddenly caught on the back door. Really hit. Why in the hell was she sitting here waiting for water, contemplating his eye color, when she should be escaping?

Prepared to lunge up, she hears him step back into the room. Carrying the glass of water in his hand moved closer, groaned as he kneeled then held the water to her.

"I'm fine." She pushed his hand away

"Just drink it," he insisted.

Glaring at him, she grabbed the water and slung the water at his face. The man grabbing the hem of his shirt to dry his face, then slowly rose.

"Damn it!" He started down the hall away from her

No lollygagging this time! She leapt up and almost got to the door when she heard him say," "Don't do it. Please I need your help. I really, really need your help."

She imagined him with the gun aimed at her back. Her breath caught on her tonsils and her knees locked. Reflexes from watching reruns of Charlie's angels almost brought her hands up in the air. "Don't shoot me." She faced him

He stood there, legs slightly apart, and stared. Instead of the gun, he held Channing. Her dog leaned his head back and licked the intruders chin. While Channing's pink tongue lapped across his jaw, the man's gaze never left her face.

"I stepped on your dog when I came after you. You may want to check his leg. I don't think it's broken." He slumped against the doorframe as if dizzy. "And I'm not going to shoot you."

First the glass of water, and now his concern for Channing. She edged closer, her heart racing, and took the dog from his arms. Channing, appearing unharmed, started licking her neck. Ignoring the kisses, she moved her hand over the dog's legs. When he didn't whimper, she set him down. He limped on his right hind leg, but after two or three steps he started putting weight on it.

"He's fine." She glanced up at the mine.

"I'm sorry." He pressed his hand against his temple. "I don't intend to hurt you, your dog, your cats, or you're talking things. I just need some time, and then I'll leave."

She studied him. Tall, dark and his straight blonde hair so dark he can be mistaken for brunette, which is couple of weeks past needing a haircut, brushed against his neck. He had the body of a well-built football player, not too bulky, but far from wiry. Bright red blood stained his shirt.

"I'm not the ad guy here." His voice echoed honesty and weariness. But echoes could lie.

She looked at his face, assessing: square jaw line, a nondescript nose that fit his face, full, shapely lips. Not the face of a murderer. Then again, how would she know? She'd never met a murderer.

Her heart pumped fear, her palms grew sweaty, but somewhere deep inside her the smallest amount of doubt started to flicker. Could he be telling the truth? "Prove it. Call the police."

"I will…eventually. But first I need to make sense of this." He leaned his head against the door jamb.

"Make sense of what?"

"Everything. I'm too tired to think." He stood straighter. "Grab the glass and come on."

She noted his gun sticking out of his pants and the handcuffs hung again from the belt loop of his jeans. Her heart pounded to a higher speed. She picked up the glass and put it on the coffee table. Channing darted beside him and he backed as if not wanting to step on the animal again. Would a cold-blooded killer watch his step so as not to hurt a dog?

"Come on." He said

"Hold your horses." She said as they moved down the hall, the phone rang again. Her machine answered it.

They got to the bedroom, and her sound system put the song "Santa Claus is coming to town" on hold while it piped Buttercup's voice. "Yo bubs call me back on my cell. Bye," her sister said.

The intruder glanced around her bedroom. Walking over to her unmade bed, he picked up her plain blue bra, turned around blushing and handed it to her "You might want to change your bra, you know if you're not divorced and all. He said in with a hint of amusement, mocking her lie.

Feeling her face redden "Turn around." Reaching her hands behind her unsnapping her bra, then quickly taking it off, if he decided to turn around, picked up the other bra and put it on. "You can look now."

As soon as he turned around his eyes raised to her. "I'm not going to hurt you. Believe that and you'll feel better. And so will i." He touched his head. "You swing a mean fish." He grinned, but pain etched lines into his face.

His gaze shifted toward the LCD television mounted from the ceiling. "Turn it on, would you? And can we axe the Christmas music? I think I've heard this song three times."

She leaned against the wall and hit a switch. The music stopped. Then she picked up the remote control. A tampon commercial blared across the screen. Smitty, red elf suit hanging crooked, strolled into the room, and jumped up on the bed to claim his space beside.

Staring at the animals, the man inched closer. As his shoe squeaked against the floor, fear squeaked inside her head.

"Give me your hands," He said

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to handcuff you."

"And you expect me to believe that you don't intend to hurt me?" Her gaze shot from him to the lamp as she thought about weapons.

"Have I hurt yo yet? That fall wasn't my fault."

In a blink, he had her right wrist cuffed, and then he connected the other end to the bed. She gave it a yank. The metal ring clanked against the brass pole of her headboard and panic swelled inside her. He had her now. Caught, trapped. Oh, god!

"I'm not going to do anything. Sit down." He picked up the lamp and set it out of her reach as if he'd read her mind, then he took the house phone and set it away. "Relax bubbles. Soon all this will be over. Sit." He pointed to the bed.

She sat. Her phone rang. Buttercup…..again. "I know you're working, but I don't have a husband, but I could take a lover, but you know they can't handle this bubbles." She said chuckling. "You and bloss…and mom are all I have sooo…..call back! You're not going to believe who I got a letter from. Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Bubbles attempted to ignore buttercup, which took concentration. Just her sister's voice can make someone dizzy now. A perfect candidate for Ritalin, BC didn't breathe when she talked. And BC always talked. "So, I was thinking…" BC continued.

Tuning out her sisters chatter long enough to worry about the fact that she was handcuffed to her own bed by a gun-totting stranger, Bubbles watched her kidnapper step into her bathroom.

"Nice," she heard him say, knowing he referred to her Jacuzzi with the attached television. Then she heard him rummaging through her drawers, followed y the creak of her mirrored medicine cabinet being opened.

He walked back inside her bedroom carrying several bottles. "Is this an antibiotic?"

He tossed a bottle in her lap. She let go of the remote control and picked up the pills. The handcuffs clinked. "Why do you need an antibiotic?"

"They usually give you one after you've been shot."

"Shot?" Her gaze darted to his shoulder. "I mean, I saw you were bleeding but I thought…How bad is it?"

"I'm not dead yet," He said. "What was the antibiotic for?"

She glanced at the bottle. "I don't think this will help. And it expired six months ago."

"What was it for?" He ambled closer.

"A female infection." Her face grew warm.

"It's better than nothing." He took the bottle, opening it with a little difficulty, and swallowed the last two pills. Then he held out another bottle. "What are these for?"

She bit down her lip and hesitated before answering. "Menstrual cramps and bloating."

"Good I hate to feel bloated." His eyes crinkled into a grin as he opened the bottle and popped two tablets into his mouth. "You got any rubbing alcohol and bandages?"

"Under the cabinet in the bathroom." She shifted and the cuffs jingled against the bed again, making her cringe.  
"Thanks. I'll replace everything I use."

"Don't you think you should go to the hospital?"

"If I go to the hospital, they'll have the cops there within ten minutes. I'm not going in until I've thought this through."

"But you're shot! You're not freaking Arnold Sch- however you say his name or james bond. You could die. And I could be stuck here, handcuffed to the bed, with your body. You'd start stinking and i-

"The bullet only grazed me." He walked back to the bathroom. "But I appreciate your concern for me." He said with a smirk in his voice.

She heard him moving around, and then he hissed and let out a few cuss words.

A few minutes later, he came back into the room, shirtless. The smell of rubbing alcohol scented the air. Her gazed moved over him, and her heart, having played fears beat for the last half hour, now thumped to a different drum. God help her but the man was a near perfect specimen of the male sex. And it had been the pleasure of looking at one since it's been a long time looking at one.

His thick arms had biceps that seemed to say, "Let me pick you up with only one Arm." She found a flat stomach and an OH MY GOD! He has a v shaped torso with a six-pack that made her think he didn't even work hard for it. Just enough hair dusted his chest to make him look masculine without appearing like a Neanderthal. Her gaze went back down following a thin treasure trail of sandy brown hair that whispered down his abdomen, swirled around his navel and tiptoed into his jeans. Wet jeans molded to every dip and contour of his umn…maleness.

Aware that she ogled, she looked away. "You're still shot. You should see a doctor. It looks red around your shoulder." She hoped he'd think she'd been staring at the bandage.

If he'd noticed her bold-faced lie, he managed not to gloat. He moved to the opposite side of the bed and dropped his gun on the bedside table. "You wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could wear, would you?"

"In the hall closet, there should be some promotional shirts in there." She wouldn't have been so accommodating, but getting him dressed seemed important- getting him out of the room crucial.

He disappeared into the hall. She heard the closet door open. Her gaze targeted the gun. If she could just….she rolled onto her stomach, and stretched out her arm. Close. She could almost feel the steel, but her fingers didn't quite….

"Hey." The sound of his voice stopped her cold.


End file.
